The Bargain & the Inevitable Fall
by Somber-and-Resplendent
Summary: The Judge made a bargain and the gypsy gave in to the inevitable fall; or perhaps they both gave in.
1. Part One: The Bargain

**Warning: Violence & Extreme Dubious Consent**

 _Part One: The Bargain_

* * *

A snickering guard's laughter resonated within the darkened dungeons, his grip tightening on a blood dripping whip, speckles of the dark liquid covering the floor like stars covering the night sky. A darkened figure, garbed in black judicial robes, a crimson ribbon fluttering behind, swept the empty, forgotten corridors of the dungeons. His footsteps echoed, alerting the hopeless prisoners of the foreboding sense of death. He clasped his pale hands together, spindly fingers entwining as his rings of emerald and ruby gently clinked against one another. The Minister of Justice had arrived.

"Minister Frollo!" the guard gasped, eyes widening in terror at the sight of the towering, menacing man whose granite eyes shimmered in disapproval as he narrowed his hardened gaze upon the blubbering guard.

"What are the charges?" he asked, his deep, baritone voice sending tremors through the stone walls. The guard shivered, lips quivering in response beneath his thick mustache where bits of breakfast were stowed away.

"Thievery, Your Honor," said the guard, "She's been restrained for three days." Trembling in the brooding presence of the Minister, he slid to the side, allowing the bright glow from within the prisoner's chamber to spill into the corridor. The orange pool of light cascaded upon Minister Frollo's tall frame, accentuating his stark features. He craned his neck and peered in, a black eyebrow shooting up in raw suspicion. Inside, a curvaceous body hung motionless from a set of rusted chains which were bolted to a brick wall; her head hung low, ink black hair shielding a beautiful but battered face.

Minister Frollo growled in satisfaction. He'd been expecting her. He twisted his dry lips into a wicked grin, and it stretched across his aged face, nearly reaching his ears.

"Leave us be," he said, gracefully waving a slender hand towards the guard who quickly scurried away at the command, his clanking armor fading away as he scampered down the lonely corridor.

The Minister entered the grimy cell, slamming the door behind him, causing the prisoner's head to shoot up like a child waking from a terrible nightmare, drenched in sweat and panicking. However, her nightmare was existent and on-going. Red-rimmed, emerald eyes fixated on the skeleton draped in Death's garments, and she shivered in alarm.

He neared her, cocked his head to the side, and jutted his chin out, cynical eyes watching her down the length of his aquiline nose; she was delicious. Her arms were pulled back, chained to the brick wall behind her alluring form, causing her chest to jut out due to the uncomfortable position. And the Minister's eyes drank in every curve of her plump, succulent breasts, sweat glistening upon them and slipping down their shapely form into the crevice between them.

He bit his lower lip and attempted to regain his soundness by straightening his narrow form and placing his needy hands, which longed to run across her shapely figure, behind his back, pale fingers entwining.

"I'll make this simple for you, gypsy. You give me what I ask for and I'll let you walk out alive. An offer I'm sure you cannot refuse," he said. His voice slightly cracked due to her appealing position which stirred a burning sensation in his loins. She teased him. Even in confinement, even in the nethermost, murkiest chamber of _his_ dungeons, she tempted him. And as a means of suppressing his enduring, lustful passions, he began pacing the room, dense footsteps falling upon the blood stained floor, a rosary wrapped around his thin wrist swaying back and forth like a pendulum with his every swift movement.

"However, should you fail to comply with my demands I'll have to bestow upon you a befitting punishment. Is that understood?"

"I'm not afraid of you," she hissed, fury brewing within her gut, bubbling forth from her luscious lips. Her emeralds narrowed on his daunting frame, her gaze burning through his robes and setting his him aflame. She loathed him, and until the end of time, she'd use her every breath polluting his order and denouncing his reign.

"I believe you," he said flatly, "But I do trust that you have neither the authority nor the time to make such accusations, for as we speak my men are on the hunt, searching for that diminutive hideaway you so dearly consider to be enthralling. I, most assuredly, can guarantee you-"

"You'll never find the Court of Miracles," she interjected, her body lunging forward, chains rattling in the dead silence that followed her revolting words. She was lovely when draped in frustration, and the Minister grinned; his plan was unraveling perfectly.

"Correct you are, my dear," he said. Drawing near, his large frame towering above her, he forbiddingly ran a thin finger down the side of her hot cheek. His touch sent a cool sensation throughout her body, yet she refused to admit it, for he was a foul, loathsome beast. And though his peculiar gesture made her stomach churn and her heart ache in a strange and unexplainable way, she couldn't help but to shudder in odd excitement at the feeling his dark and mysterious presence brought her.

"However," he began, absentmindedly twirling a finger into one of her ebony locks, "I am willing to make a bargain with you. Give me the location of the Court of Miracles, and I'll let you walk out of here alive."

"Never," she said, turning away from him, allowing her lock of hair to gently slip away from his parched finger; the silky touch of her hair had felt heavenly.

"I expected you'd say that," he said, withdrawing from her and steepling his fingers. "I suppose I'll have to change my methods."

Her brows knitted together in confusion as he crossed towards a wooden table which lay to the left of the small, dingy cell. A puddle of dirty water drowned its crooked legs, and a few splotches of crimson, which the gypsy assumed was blood, coated the countertop; the foul decoration of past victim's fluids was a worrying sight. The gypsy swallowed hard, daunting visions of unbearable torture swirling in her head; the crack of a whip filled her ears and made her jump, the pinch of clamps made her knees buckle, and the touch of hot wax dripping onto her goose bump skin nearly had her yelping in fear.

Silence entered the room and took a seat, and as she impatiently awaited her death sentence, vowing to seal her lips at all costs, a sound drew her from her thoughts. A golden ring, an emerald stone perched atop, fell to the table. The clanking sound shoved silence out of the room, and the gypsy stiffened, hands balling into fists within the metal restraints, chains slightly rattling. Another golden ring fell to the table, a red diamond hitting the wooden surface, and she clenched her teeth.

Minister Frollo rubbed at his naked fingers before turning his attention back to his prisoner. The anxiety in her eyes was captivating, and to know he had sublime power over her weak emotions was gratifying as it was engaging. Growling lowly, he neared her again, his body pressing up against hers, forcing her into the damp brick wall behind.

"Tell me, gypsy. Where is the Court of Miracles?" he asked, a wandering hand climbing up the length of her leg, fingers digging into her flesh and leaving red imprints behind like a trail to be followed.

"You're dirt," she said, shivering in disgust at his actions while devastatingly trying to keep her secret kept.

"Don't insult me, you filth!" he snapped, a free hand snatching her by the neck. She stifled a breath and suppressed a cry of fear, but his grip didn't prove to be treacherous, for the rapid beating of her heart pounding from beneath his grip enticed him, and the soft touch of her flesh upon his own aroused once dormant feelings. Slowly, he loosened his hold, fingers gently sliding down her neck.

"Perhaps you aren't so filthy; perhaps you're sweet," he said, his desperate lips sinfully approaching her inviting neck where the beat of her heart beckoned him to draw near. "Shall I have a taste?"

His words pierced her, created a hole within her chest, and she fell cautious, confused, and oddly curious. But it was the way she parted her delicious lips in hesitation, and the way her shinning emerald eyes lost themselves in his question, which ultimately pulled at the rusted chains binding his suppressed longings. His lips gently brushed against her neck, and she winced; whether it was from disgust or shock, she didn't know. However, his breath warmed her and invited her to lose herself within his madness and to give into corruption. She refused, temporarily.

Tarnishing her, he ran his tongue along the length of her neck, and she gasped, chains rattling from her sudden jolt. His lips pressed onto her flesh, teased her earlobe, and carefully trailed down the work of her jaw line, nearing her quivering lips. A hand entangled itself within her raven hair, and she cursed him over and over; yet, when he claimed her lips with a kiss, darting his tongue into her hot mouth and scavenging every area he could, the world fell apart and burned. Her mind screamed obscenities, her body fell weak, and her lips unfaithfully deepened the forbidden kiss. It was unwelcomed, but needed; it was toxic, but relished. He was warm, as if the sun lived within him, and she craved it; however, it was the fires of hell which warmed his blackened soul, and to the flames they committed.

His hand, stripped of golden ornamentations, lifted her skirts and trailed up her thighs, pausing at her most intimate region which was aching for him. From within their mad entangle, she felt his lips jerk into a wicked smile and before she could pull away and protest, a single finger slipped inside of her hot core. Her breath hitched, eyes widened, and her sanity fled her; She wriggled beneath his tall frame, ashamed at her desire to have more of him within her needy cunt. And as she hopelessly forced to break free, her every movement caused him to push his finger deeper, motioning it into a 'come hither' gesture.

She trembled and bit her lip in disgust at her sickening needs, but he reveled in the inner war she waged with her conscious.

"That's a good girl," he purred into her ear, relishing the very taste of the words that slipped through his lips. She lightly moaned in response, unable to control herself as the sweet feeling of his finger wiggling inside of her brought waves of pleasure upon her neglected body. He began to plant hot, feverish kisses down her collarbone, his lips branding her with his desire as a free hand snaked up her waist and caressed her breasts. She didn't protest, didn't fight, or disagree. She simply gave in to the inevitable fall.

Relishing her wet, hot, tightness, he slipped another finger inside of her, causing a loud moan to escape her shaking body. He silenced her with a rough kiss, forcing his tongue in between her delicious lips, choking her and claiming her right to speak. With his two fingers snug deeply within her, twisting and soothing all her itches, he further tormented her by pressing the pad of his thumb onto her swollen clit, slowly and carefully running small circles over it. She moaned into his mouth and tore her lips from his as her need for air became more than necessary. She was panting, chest furiously rising up and down against his warm body, half-lidded eyes focusing on the blurred gleams of his golden rings lying on the table.

"Tell me," he said in hoarse voice, breath tickling her neck. "Tell me where it's hidden and I'll set you free."

She shut her eyes, the golden blur vanishing from her mind, and slumped forward, forehead resting upon his shoulder as his fingers continued to swirl within her. A deep chuckle rose from within him, for he knew she couldn't bear the pleasure much longer. And to heighten the sensation, he further pressed the tip of his thumb onto her clit, building pressure and building regret in her heart.

With her head resting upon his shoulder, taking in his scent, she dared to contemplate.

"No," she gasped, voice hoarse and broken. He growled in frustration.

"Well, I suppose release will never find you," he hissed, removing his fingers, her sweet ecstasy dripping down his hand. He withdrew from her, his sudden warmth leaving her body cold, and she shuddered from the realization of being denied release. He refused to spare another glance at the gypsy and strolled towards the wooden table to collect his valuables. His game had been fun while it lasted, but it was a game nonetheless.

"Disgusting," he said while rubbing his fingers together, her hot fluids staining his pale skin. Scowling, he carefully adorned his slender fingers with the golden rings, as if they gave him comfort in returning to his supposed cleanliness and celibacy.

"Please," she begged pathetically, sweat sliding down her cheeks. "Please don't leave me like this."

He halted, spindly fingers dripping with her ecstasy clutching the brass handle. For a moment he was silent until a thought blossomed in his darkened mind.

"I do not believe it is in your authority to make requests," he said, relishing her sigh of anguish that followed. "Well, no matter," he continued, easing the door open, "I'm certain you'll soon appreciate my generosity, gypsy. I'm a patient man, and should this little escapade of ours continue to carry on, then I shall be more than willing to oblige until your lips have spoken fact." He curtly smiled before stepping into the dim-lit hall and shutting the door behind, leaving her alone to rot in her misery.

For hours her legs trembled, her heart raced, and her body craved his touch; it was diabolical. However, as Minister Frollo returned to his quarters, gracefully gliding down the dungeon halls, he couldn't resist the urge to slip his fingers into his mouth and savor the gypsy's sweetness.

 **A/N: If you liked it, tell me what you think! :) Reviews are appreciated.**


	2. Part Two: The Inevitable Fall

**Note: This continuation is dedicated to shennyfac31 for stating how they'd like to see a sequel.**

 _Part Two: The Inevitable Fall_

Blood trickled down the slender wrists of the young gypsy, for the metal shackles which bound her to the wall were sharp-edged as they were merciless to her unrestrained writhing. But the snarling guard before her, Jodoc, whose eyes were red-rimmed and cynical, lost in his thirst for blood and violent ecstasy, was evermore merciless as he brought the whip down upon her again, and again, and again; he was relentless. Sardonic curses fell from his grinning lips at each strike of the whip upon her tender flesh until a dark shadow fell upon him and a great force stopped his hand.

"That is enough," said Minister Frollo, leaving Jodoc's fury-stricken face to contort into that of perplexion, for the minister was a pitiless man and often took pleasure in his duties overseeing the punishments of the unjust. Yet in midst of the torment, the minister grew dismayed. For though he deemed it necessary to punish and belittle the thieving gypsy until she spoke fact, he found it quite disappointing to watch the fragile flower lose her soft petals to the hand of his brute guard rather than his own. Nevertheless, at his command the guard cowered away, grew small, and lowered his head.

Gazing at the gypsy with neither pity nor grief overwhelming his aged face, a foul concoction brewed in his mind. Thoughts of a far darker tormenting technique to bring upon her loomed within as his eyes lingered upon her shapely form which hung limp from the shackles. She had been captured and arrested for charges she had sworn were falsified, but her pleas failed to convince the brooding minister who held her within his dungeons for far longer than she could remember. And though her cooperation was necessary, it was seldom given, for her pride was much stronger.

"Does the prisoner wish to speak?" he asked, straightening his narrow form and placing his hands behind his back where his golden rings clinked together and echoed about the dingy cell. She inwardly sneered at his voice, refused to meet his burning gaze, and cast down her eyes to the floor in which her sin had been spilt many times before, trickling down her inner thighs and pooling around her bare feet, though she more than often denied such spilling and spurned the lustful passions which threatened to grow within her and take a hold of her feeble mind.

"Talk, gypsy!" snarled Jodoc in frustration as he drew near and raised the leather whip. Although, had his master not have interrupted yet again with a raised hand, he'd have struck the irksome girl across the face, marking her as defeated and mocking her pride. However, her spirit was not his to destroy, for it had been destroyed long ago with just a touch of his master's hand.

"Where is the Court of Miracles?" asked Minister Frollo. His voice fell upon her ears as a command, an order to be met, a demand for her submission, and she scoffed through the throbbing pain that surged through out her body from the acing whelps that covered her. Clicking his tongue upon the roof of his mouth, the minister darkly chuckled, "I admire your courage, gypsy—truly, I do. But it is not in your favor to defy me."

Jodoc grimaced, tightened his hold upon the whip, and prepared himself for his master's orders should he have to teach her a lesson: _speak when spoken to._ However, such orders never came about as the minister neared the unruly girl, casting aside the red whelps that adorned her desirable figure and the small rip at the collar of her shift which partially unveiled her large bosom. Clearing his throat and fixing his eyes upon her which longed to trail down the curves of her tempting form and see her lose her sanity to his touch, his name but a broken moan upon her lips, he offered her one last chance to redeem herself,

"Speak."

The room fell silent. She refused to meet his orders, paid no heed to his words, and ultimately made a fool out him before his gawking guard. And though she dare not curl her lips into a mocking grin, the minister heard her sardonic laughter ringing in his ears. And he grew enraged, for his pride was a sensitive thing and yet she managed to tarnish it even as she hung before him in the depths of _his_ dungeons, completely at _his_ mercy.

"Very well," he concluded with a grimace, "Jodoc, your presence is no longer needed. Leave us and shut the door behind you. I wish not to be disturbed."

"Your Honor?" questioned Jodoc, directing his cynical eyes to his master who plainly ignored his concerns and gestured for the whip, his eyes never once straying from his enchanting prisoner.

"I shall be the one administering the punishment," he said, the thought of breaking the girl blossoming in his mind. His words, practical and necessary from a man of his authority, were not so practical and necessary to the gypsy. Instead they were dark and alarming, threatening and quite alluring, though she dare not admit the latter. However, she was certain about his administrations, for she had fallen prey to them countless of times before; they were never kind yet never painful, but torturous nonetheless.

Jodoc, like the obeying mutt he was, surrendered his weapon to his master and scurried out of the room in fear that should he linger a moment longer, his own body would be shackled to the wall in some forgotten cell of the dungeons. And without another word, he vanished.

Upon the loud thud of the door shutting behind him, Minister Frollo grinned and thoughtfully began coiling the leather rope of the whip around his hand. "I'm a man of my word, gypsy. I've not forgotten our bargain."

She scowled and refused to speak, refused to give him the benefit of bickering with her until her mind was left aching with insults and curses. Either that or she had grown exhausted of their negotiations and surrendered to the fact that he'd settle for nothing less than the location of her hideout, her haven, her _home_.

Nearing her and pressing his narrow frame upon her aching body, the touch of the soft fabric of his robe mildly soothing the throbbing whelps upon her flesh, he nuzzled his face into the crook of her neck where crimson splotches from previous 'administrations' covered her. She clenched her teeth, attempted to turn away from him, but found that it only invited him to abuse her vulnerability as it granted him greater access to her exposure. Brushing his lips against her and breathing in the scent of her flesh, he dragged the rounded, blunt end of the handle to the whip along the length of her leg. "Tell me where the Court of Miracles is and you will know freedom yet again."

His breath warmed her, heated her core, and ignited a flame within her; whether it was rage or passion, she hadn't known. Or perhaps it was both.

"I won't tell you anything," she muttered. Anger traced her words. But they also shook from fear and an uncertain thrill of curiosity as the tip of the handle ventured about her legs.

"Oh, but you will," he said, lips tickling the soft bit of skin behind her ear, "I know you will." Gently, he nudged the tip of the handle between her thighs and pressed it against her cunt, that tender bit of flesh which had grown slick with sin from his close encounter.

"I won't tell you _anything_ ," she sneered with clenched teeth as if her repeated lines would somehow have the strength to support her body which had grown weak from the touch of the handle rubbing against her throbbing clit. He darkly chuckled in between the hot and feverish kisses he placed upon the work of her collarbone and relished how her pride crumbled within his hands like the breaking of bread at dinner.

However, though he found their little escapades to be rather entertaining, especially when his name would accidentally slip from her lips due to the ecstasy he had drowned her in, his patience was wearing thin. She had yet to give him the location of the infamous Court of Miracles—yet to fully please him. And while ravishing her with his own hand which summoned beautiful sighs and moans from her lips had once fulfilled his long suppressed desires, it had soon grown insufficient and would always remain so unless he purged her heathen haven and claimed her body atop his bed in the name of holy matrimony.

Carefully, he probed at her cunt and gently eased the tip of the handle inside until it was nearly engulfed. With widened eyes and clenched fists, a silent scream fell from her lips at the feeling of being stretched to accommodate the length of the handle. It was degrading, vile, yet sinfully gratifying. It filled her and sent tantalizing waves of pleasure upon her; her cheeks prickled with embarrassment and shame, and her pride disintegrated.

Slowly, he began working the object in and out of her and discarded the need to further torment her with wicked lines that bordered madness: _Do you like that_ — _does it please you, wicked girl?_ Instead he took the invitation her parted lips offered him as she held back desperate moans, and he choked her with his tongue which sought to devour her sanity should it climb up from the pit of her stomach and escape past her lips.

Both lost in their mad entangle, he carried out his dark ministrations upon her until her ecstasy spilled forth, slid down the slope of the handle of the whip, and drenched his pale hands. However, this time he wouldn't withdraw from her—this time he'd continue until her body fell numb from pleasure and her vision blurred from the building sensitivity between her trembling legs.

"Tell me where it is," he said, driving the thick handle in and out of her slick cunt, the sound of her hot fluids swirling about with every pump and resonating within the silence of the cell. It was unbearable. Her cries and pleas for mercy neither fazed him nor grieved him. He took pleasure in her defeat and drowned in the possibility that the truth might spill from her lips due to the relentless torture he inflicted upon her: a thick phallus plunging within her and a lone finger tickling her sensitive clit.

"Tell me lest I continue," he warned, and she surrendered, for her being which writhed beneath him within the shackles could handle no more of his foul ministrations. She gave in—gave into the inevitable fall.

"The heart," she whimpered between much needed breaths, "It's in the heart." Tears streamed down her blushing cheeks and a few wisps of her dark hair stuck to the sides of her face and irritated her. However, the minister was far more irritated.

"Elaborate," he sneered, his hands relentlessly working her to exhaustion.

"It's in the heart of the city," she exclaimed in a tremulous voice, and a wicked smile cut across his aged face. He had won.

* * *

He left the gypsy to rot in her cell and regret her words as he and his faithful guard ransacked the city, turning out homes and arresting anyone who dared defy him. Walls were toppled down, forgotten alleys were searched, and hundreds of gypsies were chained and brought forth to the Palais de Justice. None were given a trial, for their illegal presence within the city was sufficient evidence to damn them. And the minister was fond of such a sentence, damnation.

"Minister Frollo," called a concerned guard, waking the old man from his brooding thoughts, "You've released the gypsy?"

"I am a man of my word," he replied, watching the young girl scamper about the city grounds until her darkened figure vanished within the night; she was free.

"Do you think it was wise?" His interest was piqued over his master's odd action, mercy. But he quickly reminded himself that the girl was but a traitor among her people, and that the few that managed to survive the purge would make certain she never saw the light of day again.

Minister Frollo scowled, "Are you questioning my authority?"

"No, Your Honor. Forgive me."

"You are forgiven, but never question me again." Upon his words, he scoffed at the soldier, who wished he hadn't spoken at all, and retired to his private quarters, the darkened room in which he had secretly indulged in the wild passions the gypsy girl had brought upon him. And somewhere in the pit of his being he had hoped the girl would return, seeking sanctuary from her own unruly people who threatened her with death and vengeance for her heinous confession. Perhaps, he thought, she would then realize how animalistic and sinful her own race was and plead with him to save her.

Her teasing smile lingered in his mind, tempted him and drove him to the brink of insanity as he desperately tried to suppress the undying lust and desire he held for the unruly heathen. And though the dark thought of claiming her and taking her as his own had consumed his mind more than once, a pathetic excuse resting upon his lips, _'I can save her from the flames of this world and the next_ — _I can_ _deliver her to salvation,'_ he knew he wouldn't be able to follow out his own offer, for she was the epitome of beauty; the epitome of sin. And rather than saving the girl from the eternal flames and delivering her to a just life of salvation and purity, he longed to deliver her to a life full of ecstasy and passion.

Standing before the fireplace that beckoned him to draw near and listen to the cackling of the embers, a much interesting noise caught his ears, the soft sound of his door being shut from behind.

"You couldn't live without it, could you?" he asked, addressing the figure which loomed in the shadows. Silence ensued, save the popping embers, and then a gentle sigh rolled from the lips of the figure, _her_ lips.

He grinned, "Wicked girl." Slowly, he began removing his rings, setting each one upon the mantle, emeralds and rubies winking at him in the light of the flames. And he rubbed at his naked fingers.

He turned to her and nearly choked upon the beauty which was her: plump, parted lips, cleavage visible from the low collared blouse, and exposed legs in which he dared to imagine wrapped around his narrow waist. He growled inaudible verses as he reached for her, once a tempting vision that had teased him many nights before the fire in the form of smoke, but now standing before him as flesh and blood, breathing and begging for his touch. Snatching her, he drew her into his arms, fingers clawing and digging into the tender flesh of her back.

She lightly protested against his strong hold but gave in to his embrace which had never fell upon her in the dungeons due to the metal shackles that rendered her stationary. Possessed by passion, he furiously cleared the desk that lay mere inches from his reach with a free arm. Inked parchments of warrants, policies, and pardons floated about; and the loud scuffling of toppling ink jars and law books falling to the ground shook her being.

Ravenous, he swirled the girl around, fastened a hand upon her arm, drew it behind her back, and pressed her down atop the desk. She wriggled in the uncomfortable position: arm twisted behind her back and chest flat upon the hard wood. But Minister Frollo indulged in the sight he hadn't ever seen, her rear, for only the wall in the dungeon had been privileged with gracing the back of her.

Satisfied with her obedience, he lifted her dark skirt and slipped a finger inside of her hot core, summoning a moan to escape her which tickled his ears and fueled his carnal desires. And when her cunt was dripping with sin, he replaced his slender finger with that of his cock, much larger than the flimsy handle to the whip. Astounded by the new size, she grit her teeth, dug her fingers into the woodwork of the desk, and widened her stance, spreading her legs to accommodate his size. Pacing himself, hips slamming into her rear, he leaned down upon her and nuzzled his face into the nape of her neck, one phrase lingering upon his lips,

"You're mine."

 **A/N: Once again, thank you to shennyfac31 for prompting me to write a sequel to this brief one-shot. It was rather interesting having to stretch and expand the plot (even though it's rather non-existent due to all the smut) taking in the fact that part one was written earlier this summer. As always, if** **you liked it, tell me what you think! :) Reviews are appreciated.**


End file.
